Page 162 of The Shattered Rite
She forced air through her lungs, fingers twisting in the blanket. The darkness pressed close but she reached for him, for the pulse of ancient flame curled tight behind her ribs.
She let herself fall.
And then—
Light.
Not hers.
Vaeronth’s.
The world slid back into focus, strange and refracted, every edge gleaming faintly like wet steel. Shadows heavy, colors too sharp. But she saw.
And she sawhim.
Not Garic.
Malric.
Her breath caught.
Her whole body tensed.
“Eliryn,” he said softly, voice like silk stitched over something sharp. “I heard what happened. I’m… sorry.”
She said nothing.
Watched him approach. Watched the too-smooth grief in the angle of his mouth, the practiced way sorrow darkened his eyes.
Vaeronth held her steady.
Watch. Do not trust his words. Trust me.
She watched.
Malric stepped inside. The door sighed shut behind him.
“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling,” he continued, voice wrapped in mourning like a performance. “Silas, wasn’t it? He was loyal. I know that much.”
She narrowed her gaze, forcing calm.
“You knew he was mine?”
Malric didn’t flinch outright. But the breath before his answer dragged too long, giving away his agitation.
“Word spreads. The guards talk. Halls have ears.”
“And you knew where my room was?”
Another pause.
Then a loose shrug, deliberate. “You know I've been watching.”
She said nothing.
Only tracked him. Every step. Every tilt of his head. His hands, carefully visible. His body, never quite at ease.
Malric sat lightly on the edge of her table. Not too close. Not yet.
